Austrian legal procedure was slow; the trial of the first Carbonari, Silvio Pellico and his companions, did not take place till 1822.  On the 22nd of February the sentence of death was read to Silvio Pellico in his Venetian prison, to be commuted to one of fifteen years’ imprisonment at Spielberg, a fortress converted into a convict prison in a bleak position in Moravia.  To that rock of sorrow, consecrated for ever by the sufferings of some of the purest of men, Silvio Pellico and Pietro Maroncelli, with nine or ten companions, condemned at the same time, were the first Italians to take the road.  Here they remained for the eight years described by the author of Francesca da Rimini, in Le Mie Prigioni, a book that served the Italian cause throughout the world.  Even now some Italians are indignant at the spirit of saintly resignation which breathes upon Silvio Pellico’s pages, at the veil which is drawn over many shocking features in the treatment of the prisoners; they do not know the tremendous force which such reticence gave his narrative. Le Mie Prigioni has the reserve strength of a Greek tragedy.

Maroncelli contracted a disease of the leg through the hardships endured; amputation became necessary, but could not be performed till permission was received from Vienna—­a detail showing the red-tapism which governed all branches of the Austrian administration.  This patriot went, after his release, to America, where he died, poor, blind and mad.  Pellico, crushed in soul, devoted his latter years entirely to religion.  Only men of iron fibre could come out as they went in.  The Spielberg prisoners wore chains, and their food was so bad and scanty that they suffered from continual hunger, with its attendant diseases.  Unlike the thieves and assassins confined in the same fortress, the State prisoners were given no news of their families.  Such was Spielberg, ’a sepulchre without the peace of the dead.’

The State trials of the Lombard patriots in 1823 resulted in seven capital sentences on the Milanese, thirteen on the Brescians, and four on the Mantuans.  The fate of the other prisoners depended on that of Count Confalonieri.  If the sentence on him were not carried out, the lives at least of the others might be regarded as safe, since he was looked upon as the head.  It is certain that the authorities, and the Emperor himself, had the most firm intention of having him executed; the more merciful decision was solely due to the Countess Confalonieri’s journey to Vienna.  Accompanied by the prisoner’s aged father, this beautiful and heroic woman, a daughter of the noble Milanese house of Casati, went to Vienna before the conclusion of the trial, to be ready for any eventuality.  When the sentence of death was passed, it was announced by the Emperor to old Count Confalonieri, whom he advised to return with the Countess Teresa as fast as possible if they wished to see the condemned man alive.  Undaunted by the news, the